Persson’s solo music might have made as much impact over the past five decades, if anyone had actually heard it. One piece did make a small dent: the 1967 tape-loop protest “Proteinimperialism,” released in 1970 on a split LP with fellow countryman Folke Rabe. But it turns out Persson had a lot more going on before he formed his avant-rock groups with fellow students at Stockholm’s Royal College of Music. Inspired to “play music the way I myself imagined that it should sound,” he crafted tape-based experiments and ensemble compositions that rival his pioneering later work.

As heard on the archival compilation Love Is Here to Stay, these early Persson pieces reflect their times and predict later advances, yet ultimately stand as the unique work of a singular vision. Granted, Persson was influenced by Terry Riley, whom he met when his mentor, the composer Jan Bark, brought him to Sweden to lead a version of In C in which Persson played electric organ. You can hear Riley’s musical voice echoing through Persson’s tape experiments, which build and expand the way Riley’s did. But there’s a simplicity to Persson’s approach that makes his work more primal, and more personal. Most of his pieces use just a few sonic elements, and are clear about where they are and what they’re doing. Their power comes not from overwhelming your ears but focusing them, directing concentration to detail rather than density.

They also make a fascinating study in combining tapes with other instruments, in ways that end up like collaborative duets. On “Invention” parts I and II, Persson intersects his recorders with the flute of Björn J:son Lindh, creating what at times sound like embryonic versions of Phill Niblock’s rock-solid drones. Even more intriguing is Persson’s use of Maylen Bergström’s singing. On “Piece I”, her free-form vocalizing evokes Patty Waters’ height-scaling and Yoko Ono’s quiver. Persson grounds those flights with loops both rhythmic and responsive, supporting Bergström without blocking her. Later, on “Piece II”, tape repetitions move forward, soaking the vocals until they become pure waves.

Persson’s ensemble compositions also feature interlocked partnership. “Små toner mer eller mindre,” from a 1967 Swedish radio broadcast, uses five players, yet it’s still thoroughly, calmly minimalist. No individual element dominates; at times it seems as if everyone is playing one instrument together, lending intimacy to something that could have sounded crowded. “Love Is Here to Stay”, by contrast, has moments of clutter, and is the clearest foreshadow of Persson’s group work, as his conga rhythms turn it into a kind of rock meditation. But even this piece feels personal, more the echoes of a mind than the rumblings of a collective.

Love Is Here To Stay ends with its only previously-released track, the aforementioned “Proteinimperialism”. Its overt political slant, based on a repeated phrase signifying the environmental dominance of the Western World, is also unique among these pieces. In fact, were you to listen to the rest ofthe album without further context, you might think Persson’s solo work was significant primarily for its formal experimentation, at a time when minimalism was just starting to gel and infect genres outside of academic composition.

That wouldn’t be wrong, but there’s more going on here than aesthetic progress. Persson was particularly concerned about the environment—he took up music after abandoning engineering because of machines’ impact on nature—and a love of surroundings, an appreciation of the organic, is evident throughout the album. (Not coincidentally, Persson now devotes most of his waking hours to farming his own food). The music develops with little restriction and, even at its most tape-manipulative, doesn't sound artificial. Perhaps the loudest message of Love Is Here to Stay is that complex ideas are sometimes best expressed in the most uncomplicated ways.